


Hello, Officer

by wincechesters



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Cop!Keith, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Handcuffs, M/M, Physicist!Shiro, Top Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 02:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: Keith is on duty when he is called to the site of a noise complaint, where he meets one drunken Takashi Shirogane celebrating his birthday. Keith gives Shiro a ticket; Shiro steals Keith’s heart.





	Hello, Officer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ailurea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailurea/gifts).



> HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY SHIRO!!! This is a gift for ailurea, as part of the 2019 Shiro Birthday Exchange put on by @vldexchange. I tried to incorporate some of your prompts as I was writing and I really hope you enjoy it!! <3
> 
> Beta’d by the most magnificent Meg - thank you so much as always. Thanks also to Kim, for cheerleading and for brainstorming with me and helping me bring this idea to life.

They're exactly twenty-three minutes into a graveyard shift Keith's been dreading all week when they get the call.

_―request assistance, we have a 2333 at 217 Albany Street. Please respond._

"Ugh." Beside him in the driver's seat, Lance throws his hands up momentarily. He'd wound up behind the wheel for the third night in a row, by virtue of sheer obnoxiousness and the hand he’d shoved in Keith's face as they'd made their way out to the squad car. "Is it too much to ask that we get a half-decent call on this garbage shift? We gotta be stuck with Drunk and Noisy again?"

Keith rolls his eyes. He questions Commander Iverson's decision to pair them together every night, thinks about begging for a transfer at least weekly, but he doesn't think he'd ever get it. The day he'd been paired with Lance, he swears Iverson had laughed. "It's not all glamour and drug busts," he says for the thousandth time, though secretly he agrees with his partner. Their precinct is near the University, and the disproportionate number of calls for noise complaints and unruly, drunken students makes it one of the more redundant beats. Still, beggars can't be choosers, and he checks his badge and his weapon as Lance makes a left on Albany, turning them towards the address in question.

He takes them not towards student housing, as Keith had originally expected, but what looks to be a pretty high-end apartment building. He recalculates, steeling himself for _rich_ drunk students as they make their way up the stairs to apartment 4F.

The sound reaches them before they're even out of the stairwell, thumping bass rattling the hall, the sounds of cheers and shrill yells filtering down the hallway. He exchanges a glance with Lance, who raises a fist to knock on the sturdy door of 4F.

No response, just more incoherent yelling.

Keith rolls his eyes and pounds the flat of his curled fist on the door. "Police, open up!"

The sound cuts off, and he hears, distinctly, the sound of someone hissing at their unruly companions to _shut the fuck up_ and a gasp of _shit, the police!_ He rolls his eyes and knocks again.

From inside: "Shiro, get the door!"

"Why do I have to get it?!"

"Because you're closest!"

The music ratchets down a few notches and then the door is swinging open to reveal―wow. So, not a college student then. Definitely not a college student. His hair is white, flung back from his head in unruly, sweaty lines, but he doesn't look old enough to have hair that color. He’s all broad shoulders under an MIT t-shirt, and his arms are outrageous. One of them is a shining white prosthetic, the kind of advanced robotics Keith has only ever seen on TV, and both are jacked. Like, _really_ jacked.

The guy weaves a little and blinks down at Keith and Lance like he's surprised to see them, and then grins. "Okay," he calls back into the room, "I told you guys no strippers!"

There’s a beat of silence and then, "Shiro," someone says, horrified, "no one ordered strippers."

Someone else bursts into uncontrollable giggles as the guy turns to frown down at Keith. He jabs a thumb directly at Keith, puzzlement written across his face as his heavy brows draw together. "But real police aren't this hot!"

Beside him, Lance snorts a laugh and Keith shoots him a glare. He fishes in his pocket, pulling out his badge.

"Sorry to disappoint," Keith says, deadpan, flashing the badge up at the guy. The drunk guy squints at it, the pink flush on his neck and ears spreading. He has a scar across the bridge of his nose that stands out against the blush, a slash of white skin in amongst the pretty pink.

Not pretty, Keith corrects himself. Drunk and disorderly.

"Can we come in?" Keith asks pointedly. "We can do this in the hallway, but I'm sure you don't want your neighbors to see you getting a ticket."

The guy grins, weaving a little as he beckons them inside. "You can _definitely_ come in, Officer." He winks and Keith can feel his own face heat and he has to fight not to elbow Lance when he sniggers under his breath at Keith’s side.

"Looks like you got this one under control," Lance says, with a devious grin, and he peels away from Keith's side before Keith can protest.

Keith sighs, pulling out his ticket book and a pen.

“You got some ID?”

The man fishes in his pocket, producing a leather wallet from which he extracts a driver’s license with some difficulty, handing it to Keith. His finger brushes against Keith’s with clumsy intent as he withdraws, and Keith gives him a _look_ before turning to look at the ID.

“Well, Takashi Shirogane―”

“You can call me Shiro,” he says, with an exaggerated wink.

Keith’s mouth wants to curl up in a smile. He smashes it down with everything he’s got. “Well Shiro, have a seat while I write up this ticket.”

The big guy―Shiro, apparently―falls more than he sits, slumping down onto the coffee table which creaks under his weight. Keith eyes it warily. He’s made up of what looks to be sheer muscle from head to toe and Keith is not checking out the guy he’s about to write a ticket for. He’s not.

He swallows and sets his pen to the ticket book.

“It’s my birthday you know.”

 _Drunk and disorderly_ ― Keith scribbles on the pad, checking his watch to note the time. “Is it?” he replies absently.

“Uh huh,” Shiro says, nodding. His body weaves a little with the motion, and he keeps nodding, as though maybe he thinks the world is just supposed to move like that.

 _―noise complaint_. “How old are you turning?”

“Seven.”

Keith looks up from the pad, blinking. “What?”

Shiro outright giggles and Keith tries very hard not to find it adorable. Someone so big and so good looking truly should not be so cute. “It’s true. I was born on Leap Day.”

It’s not a leap year. “So today’s not _actually_ your birthday,” Keith teases. The words come out suspiciously like flirting, and he curses himself as he coughs just for an excuse to duck his head and hide his flush. He’s glad Lance is across the room, currently ticketing a big guy with longish hair and a headband across his forehead.

“I guess not.” Shiro frowns. Keith immediately regrets the words that put the pout on his full mouth, but then he remembers he's got a job he's supposed to be doing.

Keith rips the ticket away from the pad, handing it off to Shiro. “Here you go. Just remember you have fifteen days to pay the fine.”

He tries desperately not to enjoy the deliberate way Shiro's fingers brush against his, the way Shiro winks drunkenly at him. “Baby, I'll pay _your_ fine.”

Keith chokes. “Wh―that doesn't even make sense!”

Shiro just waggles his eyebrows at him and Keith forces his face into a scowl. “I have to go now.” His shin catches on a nearby keg and he curses, stumbling. Fortunately Shiro doesn't seem to notice.

“You're leaving already?” His face falls. “Don't you like me?”

“Wh―I just gave you a ticket! I have to head back to the station!”

“Okay. But call me?”

“Okay, sure,” Keith says, just to get him to stop making that adorable, sad face. “I have to, uh―” he points at the door. Then raises his head to shout at Lance across the room. “McClain! Let's go.”

Lance watches him a little too closely for Keith's liking on the way down the stairs. “What's wrong with you? You're all red and blushy.”

“I am not.”

“You are!” His expression turns downright gleeful. “You want to head back up there, Hotshot? Give that hunk of beef the strip tease he was hoping for?”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” Keith grumbles, and he waits for the exact right moment to shove Lance so that he bangs his elbow on the building's door frame on the way out.

*****

“Hey Loverboy, did you cave and look up Beefcake’s phone number yet?”

Keith scowls, hammering away at his keyboard, where he is working on a perfectly normal arrest report, not looking up Beefca―Takashi Shirogane’s phone number, thank you very much. Nevermind that using a person’s ticketing record to look up their personal information is absolutely an invasion of privacy and absolutely one hundred percent illegal; he’s also more than a little embarrassed by the entire interaction. Sure the guy had been drunk, but he’d also mistaken Keith for a _stripper_. He’s not sure he could look Shiro in the face again without exploding into flames.

So no, Keith is absolutely not going to use his powers for evil.

Lance parks his ass on the corner of Keith’s desk, crumpling the documents and the file folder spread across it. He glares up at Lance. “No. I haven’t and I’m not going to. Can you get your ass off my paperwork?”

Even though Shiro had been exactly Keith’s type. Even though he’d been honestly charmed by Shiro’s drunken overtures. Even though he’d spent way too much time thinking about those broad shoulders and the stretch of that threadbare t-shirt over his tightly muscled chest while in the shower the past several days.

He’s not going to. He’s _not_.

“C’mon, seriously? Keith. Buddy. He was into you! Just try to tell me you don’t want to track him down and show him just exactly what you can do with those handcuffs.”

Keith gives Lance his most unimpressed glare. Without dropping his gaze, with one finger he punches the Enter key on his keyboard, once. Twice.

Lance rolls his eyes, throws up his hands in despair, and finally, _finally_ deigns to pick his ass up off of Keith’s cluttered desk. “Alright, _fine_. Live in blue-balled hell for the rest of your life. But don’t say I didn’t ever try to help you out.”

“How is that―” Keith shakes his head. “Nevermind. Don’t answer that.” He steadfastly ignores Lance as Lance makes his way back to his own cubicle, pounding resolutely away at his keyboard. He’s not going to think about Shiro, or stripping for Shiro, or Shiro in handcuffs with his muscles flexing against the strain, bowing his back off a bed or―

Fuck.

Anyway, no matter how much Shiro’s been on his mind since the party they broke up, he’s not going to abuse his power as a police officer to track him down. Even if he’s been thinking about him, his terrible sense of humor, the gorgeous curl of his lips, the adorable pout when he’d thought Keith was rejecting him. He’d been wearing an MIT t-shirt too, but he was clearly not a student; not in that housing and not at that age, and (especially) not with that body.

Truthfully, Shiro is a mystery, and if there’s anything Keith loves more than a big, hot guy with muscles like a god, it’s a mystery, which is why he finds himself knocking on the apartment door at Albany Street for the second time that week.

It’s his day off, which was the only way he was going to do this; he’d rather string himself up by his toenails than let Lance see what he’s about to do. Not because he’s embarrassed, but because he can’t let Lance win. He raises his hand, knocks, and waits, shoving his hands into the pockets of his too-tight jeans (because he might be crazy for doing this but he wasn’t going to do it unprepared). He’s about to give up, to turn away and let Shiro disappear like the beautiful, mysterious cryptid he probably is, when the door swings open to admit―

Oh. Not Shiro.

“You’re not Shiro,” Keith says intelligently.

“What an astute observation,” the occupant of the apartment says sarcastically. She’s short, far shorter than he is, with light brown hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in a while with the way it stands up in unruly spikes at the back. And she’s wearing cargo shorts.

“Um.” Keith tries to look around her. “Is he here?”

She studies him with the air of someone examining a particularly puzzling and unpleasant scientific specimen. Then, she snaps her fingers, pointing up at him triumphantly.

“I knew I recognized you. You’re the police officer from last week!”

Another voice sounds from deeper in the apartment. “Who is it, Pidge?”

“It’s the stripper cop from Shiro’s birthday party!” she calls back gleefully.

“I’m not a stripper!” he protests, but then there’s two of them filling the narrow doorway and he can only blink at the pair of them. The newest occupant of the doorway is a little taller, and he’s not wearing glasses, and his hair is longer, but there’s no mistaking the resemblance between them. And they’re both wearing identical expressions of maniacal conspiracy that make Keith want to take a step back or to run away down the hallway.

He doesn’t do either; he’s a damn cop and he’s not going to run away from a couple of gremlins, no matter how terrifying.

“Hmm, now what are you doing back here, I wonder?” the taller one asks, and he flicks a knowing glance down at the smaller one―Pidge, apparently.

“I’m looking for Shiro,” Keith says impatiently, setting his jaw. “Does he live here?”

“Sorry, Officer,” Taller Gremlin replies. “Shiro lives across town. He was just here for the party.”

“Okay then,” Keith says hastily, and he gives in to the urge to flee, taking a step backward and already turning away. This was a stupid idea; he shouldn’t have come here and now he’s never going to be able to show his face anywhere Shiro is even if he still wanted to which―

“Whoa, whoa, just hold on a second there, Officer.” A small hand reaches out and snags the sleeve of his leather jacket. He looks back down and sees Pidge looking up at him, scrutiny in every line of her squinting brow. “Just what were you wanting with Shiro, anyway?”

“Nothing,” Keith mumbles, and he clenches his jaw against the flush he can feel spreading high on his cheekbones.

She stares at him, and finally lets go of his sleeve. “Hmm.” She looks up at the other gremlin. “What do you think, Matt?”

He grins, and Keith is reminded, horrifyingly, of Lance. “I think we just found the seventh member of our M&M campaign tonight.”

*****

They meet at a tabletop cafe downtown that Keith had never known existed, had never heard the name of until tonight. He parks his bike between a big yellow truck and a sexy black muscle car with some trepidation, eyeing the storefront skeptically.

The inside isn’t much better than the outside; hardly the type of place Keith would expect to be a fun hangout. But he’s accosted immediately by Pidge, who spots him and drags him over to their table with a dangerous glint in her eye. For someone so small, she’s incredibly strong and even more determined, so he follows with only a slight protest and dragging of his boots on the scuffed floor. There’s a small ragtag group gathered around the rectangular table, and they all look up curiously to check out the new addition.

“Hey nerds, this is Keith! He’s going to be joining us tonight. Keith, you met my brother Matt―” she points around the table “―and this is Allura, Coran, Hunk, and you remember Shiro.”

Keith flicks his fingers in a little salute, the corner of his mouth twisting in an expression he can’t be sure can be characterized as a smile, before he lets his eyes meet Shiro’s. He’d been hoping on the way over that Shiro might have been drunk enough to have forgotten their ill-fated and truly embarrassing first encounter, but one glance at his wide eyes and the flush creeping up to his cheeks and the way he’s gone still with shock is enough to put that thought in its grave.

“Uh, hey,” he says, struggling against the heat he can feel under his skin.

“O-Officer Kogane!”

Keith grimaces. “I’m off duty. It’s Keith tonight.”

Shiro nods jerkily. “I’m Shiro.” He sticks out his prosthetic hand to be shaken then laughs at himself, rubbing the back of his neck with his flesh hand. “But you already know that.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, and he’s surprised to feel his mouth begin to curl up, his embarrassment somehow thwarted by the warmth flooding his chest. He accepts Shiro’s hand to shake it firmly, letting his eyes linger just a little on the way Shiro fills out his light blue button-down, the way the fabric stretches and pulls with his movement.

The others shuffle around, getting comfortable, and Shiro looks cagey until Matt disappears to go to the bathroom. Shiro stands up so suddenly the table rattles. “I have to―uh, me too.” He runs after Matt.

Keith watches him go, swallowing down bitterness and embarrassment. He turns to glare at Pidge. “Why did you bring me here?”

Pidge rolls her eyes, gives him a shove. “Go get a drink. Relax. Shiro will calm down in a minute. It’s not your fault he’s a Huge Gay Disaster.” Keith can hear the capitals along with the fond exasperation in her voice. She looks him up and down critically. “It _is_ your fault that you look like that, though.”

He frowns, looking down at himself as if he’s going to find something different than what he left his apartment with. “Like what?”

She just shakes her head.

Grumbling to himself, he makes his way over to the bar. He’s going to need a drink to get through this night, if this is what he’s in for.

“―can’t believe you invited the officer who wrote me a damn ticket when I was drunk off my ass!”

Keith freezes. That was Shiro’s voice. He peers around the pillar in the middle of the room and sees Shiro; he’s got Matt cornered and is apparently in the middle of an impressive lecture.

Matt isn’t phased. He cocks one eyebrow at his friend, skepticism in every line of his face. “You’re telling me you’re upset about seeing him again?”

Shiro splutters. “That’s not the point, Holt! I made an _idiot_ of myself in front of him!” He groans, dragging a big hand down his face. He sounds haunted. “God, I called him a _stripper_. I said he was too hot to be a cop!”

“Chill out, Shirogane. I’m sure he’s dealt with all sorts of idiotic comments on the job, looking like he does.”

“I want to die.”

Keith decides he’s heard enough. He steps out from behind the pillar, clearing his throat as he does. “Listen, I’m going to go.”

Shiro whirls, his entire face going red. Behind him, Matt slips soundlessly away, leaving the two of them alone. “Keith! You heard―”

“Hey. Yeah, but it’s fine. I’m just going to―” he points towards the door.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Keith laughs, humorlessly. “Pretty sure I do. It’s fine, okay? I thought―it doesn’t matter what I thought. You’re clearly uncomfortable and I didn’t mean to make it weird. We can just forget this ever happened.”

He turns to leave again and is surprised when Shiro’s hand snaps out to close loosely around his wrist. The grip isn’t firm enough that he couldn’t pull away if he wanted to, but it does give him pause. “Wait! Please. You don’t have to go. I was just embarrassed. I was an idiot before; I don’t know how you can look me in the eye after everything I said to you.”

Keith turns and meets Shiro’s gaze steadily. Shiro’s eyes are wide and sincere and really pretty, grey irises framed by long lashes and bold brows just a shade darker than his hair. “You were drunk. It’s not like I’ve never been drunk before.” He shrugs. “It was kind of cute.”

The corner of Shiro’s mouth turns up, and the little line of worry between his brows eases up. “Yeah?”

Keith feels warm under his skin, but he nods. “Yeah. So unless you _want_ me to leave―”

“Stay.” Shiro’s voice is firmer now. “Please stay.”

Keith grins. “Yeah, okay.”

Shiro lets out a breath and his shoulders seem to loosen a little. He lets out a little chuckle. “You want a drink? On me.”

“Only if you promise not to make it a reenactment of your birthday party,” Keith teases, but he’s already heading towards the counter.

“They don’t serve alcohol here,” Shiro says, apologetically. “But they make a mean Americano?”

Keith chuckles. “Just plain drip coffee is fine. I take it black.”

True to his words, Shiro gets them each a coffee, and Keith follows him back to the table. Shiro slides into the booth beside Matt, ignoring the shit-eating grin Matt shoots his way.

“All right, sit down already.” Pidge shoves at Keith’s side until he gives in and slides into the booth next to Shiro. Shiro shuffles over to make room for him and Keith tamps down the disappointment as he moves to leave a respectable distance between their bodies.

“So, uh. Have you played Monsters & Mana before?”

Keith shakes his head. “I’ve never even heard of it. It’s some kind of board game?”

Shiro’s eyes absolutely light up. “Really, never? You’re going to love it, Keith. It’s so good.”

“Wanna tell me how it works?”

“Sure!” Shiro launches into a long-winded explanation about characters and dice-rolls and quests. Keith tries to follow along, but he gets lost somewhere around Shiro detailing the time he faced off against a dragon hoarding a pile of treasure, and his Human Paladin―incredibly named Jiro, of all things, how the fuck is he so cute―died when the dragon woke up and Shiro only managed to roll a three.

Shiro talks with his hands and his grey eyes light up when he’s excited. Keith is so, so gay.

“I’ve lost you,” Shiro says, smiling ruefully when he notices the way Keith’s eyes must have glazed over. “Sorry, I know it’s a lot for your first time.”

“No, I think I got the gist of it.” He absolutely does not have the gist of it. Shiro’s grin widens as if he knows what Keith isn’t saying, and Keith huffs a rueful laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ll learn as I go?”

Shiro nods, opening his mouth to say something else, but then the older guy with a truly impressive moustache―Coran, he thinks Pidge said―claps his knobby hands together and shakes a pair of dice menacingly at the table at large. “All right, adventurers, are we ready to start tonight’s quest?”

There’s a chorus of affirmatives around the table, and then Coran is passing Keith an ominous looking piece of paper. “First, Keith, you need to create your character!”

“Um.” Keith stares blankly at the piece of paper, which looks vaguely like a grade school worksheet. “What?”

“Don’t worry,” Shiro says, and he leans in close enough that his shoulder bumps against Keith’s. “I’ll help you.”

*****

Shiro groans and keels forward, his head thunking on the table in front of him.

“I can’t believe it,” Keith says, astonished. “I can’t believe you died _again_. How many times was that? Three? Four?”

“Shut up,” Shiro mumbles, his voice muffled as he speaks toward his lap. He looks up suddenly and shoves playfully at Keith’s shoulder. “ _You_ on the other hand―I can’t believe you kicked everyone’s ass on your first game!”

Keith shrugs. “Beginner’s luck?”

Shiro shakes his head solemnly, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his gorgeous mouth. “Looked like natural talent to me.”

“If you think my dice rolling skills are good, you should see how I work a slot machine.” He quirks one eyebrow, his lips crooking at the corners, and he’s rewarded when Shiro’s gaze turns heated, his eyes skimming over Keith’s mouth.

“Wow.” Keith jumps, turning to see Pidge and the rest of Shiro’s friends staring at them from across the table. She’s got her chin cradled in her hand as she scrutinizes them. “It’s like watching National Geographic over here.”

Matt leans into her side, miming a microphone with his juice bottle. He puts on ridiculous Australian accent, “And here we see the Shirogane in the wild, attempting to woo his mate. Let’s watch, as he displays the typical courtship behavior of―”

“Oh my god,” Shiro interrupts, and it’s hard to tell in the dim light of the bar, but Keith thinks his ears look a little pink. “Shut the hell up, Matt.”

Matt waves a dismissive hand, chuckling as he shuffles his sister out of the booth. “We gotta get going anyway. I’ve got a date with a bunch of sexy microbots in the morning. Let’s go, Katie.”

They help Coran scrape the game pieces into the box and then the Holts, Hunk, Allura, and Coran are all slinging on their coats and making for the door. Keith finds himself alone with Shiro for the first time all night, and he licks his dry lips, shoving his hands in his pockets. He’s suddenly shy, not sure where he should look or if he should follow Shiro’s friends out the door; all he knows is that he doesn’t want tonight to end.

“Listen, do you want to get another drink?” Shiro asks suddenly. “If you have to go, that’s okay too, but if you don’t―”

“No,” Keith says quickly. “I mean, yes, I want to get another drink.” He lets the corner of his mouth turn up and he meets Shiro’s pleased smile with one of his own. “I can stay for a bit.”

Shiro stands, reaching out a hand to pull Keith to his feet behind him. He tugs Keith towards the bar and Keith has to tuck his chin into his chest to hide his smile as Shiro's fingers lace with his. He doesn't let go until they get to the bar, and even then, it's only to reach out to curl his fingers around both cups and pass one to Keith.

They make their way back to the booth, two full cups of coffee between them. The booth feels too large with just the two of them in it; even though Shiro is anything but small, with the way he and Keith are gravitating towards each other, close enough that Keith can feel the heat radiating off him, the brush of his muscular arm as he gestures to punctuate his words, the booth seems to grow more and more empty.

"How did you meet those guys, anyway?" Keith raises his cup to his lips, and he smiles at the way Shiro's eyes follow the movement. "You seem like kind of an odd group."

Shiro nods, chuckling. "We work together actually. Well," he pauses, qualifying, "I work with Pidge, Matt, and Hunk. Allura is in a different department, but we run into her from time to time. And Coran is her uncle."

"And what is it exactly that you do?" Keith grins. "You know what I do; it's only fair."

Shiro laughs again. "Oh, right. Well I work for the University, in the research department. Sometimes I teach classes, too. Astrophysics."

Keith's eyes widen and he lets the coffee cup fall to the table with a too-loud thunk. "Holy shit. So you're like―some kind of genius?”

"No, no, nothing like that. Just your everyday, run-of-the-mill space nerd."

“So that party that I broke up... that was just your everyday, run-of-the-mill Physicist party? I thought I was about to bust a bunch of frat boys."

Shiro laughs, rubbing a broad palm across the back of his neck. "That was Matt. I swear I'm not usually so out of control."

Keith cocks a teasing eyebrow grinning. "Sure, sure."

"I swear!" Shiro is grinning too, his arm resting on the table as he leans in to bump his shoulder against Keith's. "You telling me you never get a little crazy? Not even on your birthday?"

"Never." Keith takes a long pull of his coffee, then laughs as he sets the glass back down. "Actually, your little house party was nothing. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but if it weren't for Matt's cranky neighbors it wouldn't have even been worth busting." He launches into a description of his own last birthday party, during which he'd gotten so drunk in order to put up with Lance that he wound up waking up on a park bench, alone, missing one shoe.

Shiro shakes his head in mock-disappointment, but he's grinning, and the space between them has disappeared down to almost nothing. "And here I thought you were some straight-laced cop. What will your superiors think?" His eyes are on Keith's mouth.

Keith sways forward into his space, swallowing. "You gonna tell on me?"

"I would never." Shiro's tongue darts out to wet his lips and Keith feels himself lean in―

―And is interrupted when his phone starts vibrating wildly against his hip.

He startles, pulling back sharply. Shiro's eyes go wide. "Oh―I'm sorry, I―"

"It's not you," Keith says quickly, cursing internally as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. The call cuts off, then picks up again. "It's the station."

"Oh." Shiro smiles, a little disappointed. "You have to go."

"Yeah," Keith says ruefully. He curses whatever emergency must be happening that would be bad enough to call him on his night off. He had been sure Shiro was about to kiss him, and he had been sure he was going to kiss Shiro back. "I'm sorry."

Shiro shakes his head. "Don’t be. You have lives to save, villains to bust. It’s okay."

Keith gets to his feet, shoving his arms back into the sleeves of his leather jacket. For a moment they're frozen there, staring awkwardly at each other, and then Keith's phone starts buzzing again.

"Fuck!" He smashes the answer call button. "Kogane."

"Keith, you gotta get out here!” Romelle’s voice is hurried and tense. “There's a big bust going down and it’s all hands on deck."

"I'm on my way. Five minutes." He ends the call. "I gotta go, Shiro, I'm sorry."

Shiro's still smiling, sad but understanding, and the expression makes something tighten inside of Keith's chest. Before he can stop himself, he's surging forward, grabbing the lapels of Shiro's jacket and pulling him down to crush their lips together in a kiss.

"Bye," he says, biting his lip, and he pulls himself away before Shiro can convince him with his kiss-slick lips and the dumb dorky smile creeping across them that he should stay.

It isn't until he's back on his bike, ripping down Norfolk towards the scene that he realizes he forgot to get Shiro's phone number.

*****

“You’re moping,” Lance says when he parks himself on the corner of Keith’s desk the next week.

“I’m not moping,” Keith says, refusing to look up from the report he’s typing. Sure, maybe he’d gone home lonely the night of his not-date with Shiro. Maybe he’d been snapping at Lance a few times more than usual since that night. Maybe he’d thought about that impromptu kiss and the way Shiro had smiled after it a little too much the past few days. Maybe he’s been seriously debating which is the least embarrassing way to get in touch with Shiro again: showing up at the Holts’ once more, or breaking his previous vow not to use his police powers for stalking purposes.

But he’s not moping.

Lance tsks, shifting to put his booted foot up on the desk. Keith pauses in his typing, eyeing the foot and debating the validity of picking up his letter opener and using it to stab said foot.

 _You’re a police officer_ , he reminds himself reluctantly. It would be bad form to stab his fellow officer while in the bullpen of their own station. It would be literally impossible to not be busted. He draws his twitching fingers away from the letter opener where it sits waiting inside his lion mug with his collection of pens and stabs his fingers into the keyboard instead.

Lance does not take the hint. “So you don’t want to hear that your beefcake is out in the lobby right now?”

Keith’s fingers freeze above the keyboard and he finally looks up to meet Lance’s smirking gaze. “What? Shiro’s here?”

“Yeah, buddy, Shiro’s here.”

“What is he doing here?”

Lance raises one sardonic, expertly groomed eyebrow. “I have no idea, dude, but best guess is he’s moping over your emo ass as much as you’re moping over his.”

“I am not―” Keith cuts himself off with a growl. “Nevermind. What do I do?”

“What do you do?” Lance stares at him incredulously, flinging one arm in the direction of the door in demonstration. “You go get your man!”

Were it anyone else waiting for him in the lobby, Keith thinks he would ignore Lance’s suggestion on principle. As it is, he’s been thinking about Shiro for days now, and his showing up at Keith’s work fills him with an indescribable warmth. It must show on his face, because Lance looks far too smug for his own good, and Keith makes a mental note to beat his ass for it later.

For now though, there’s a beefcake waiting for him.

When Keith bursts a little too excitedly through the door of the bullpen into the lobby, he finds Shiro sitting in one of the ragged waiting room chairs, his arms braced on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. He looks up at the sound of Keith’s entrance and the smile when he meets Keith’s eyes threatens to bowl Keith right over with its sweetness.

“Keith―uh, Officer Kogane.” Shiro shoots to his feet, a slight flush creeping out of the neck of his soft-looking burgundy henley and up the back of his neck as he shifts.

Keith grins. “Hey Shiro. What are you doing here?”

Shiro blushes further, the color so pretty on his cheeks. He fishes in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “I came to pay my ticket. Fifteen days right?”

“Uh huh.” Keith crosses his arms over his chest and his cheeks hurt a little with how hard he’s grinning. “You know you don’t pay your fines at the actual police station right? You go to the court house. Or, you know, you can just go online. The internet’s a thing, now.”

Shiro reaches his free hand to rub the back of his neck, embarrassed. He laughs abashedly. “Yeah, okay, you caught me.” He drops his hand and glances around the waiting room. Romelle is sitting at her desk, but she’s not paying any attention, her gaze on her computer. Shiro steps forward and reaches out to take Keith’s hand.

Keith feels his heart stutter in his chest.

“I just wanted to see my favorite officer,” Shiro says, his voice low and soft. Keith finds himself tilting forward into it, drawn in. “And get his phone number and ask if he wanted to go on a date with me.”

“Damn,” Keith says, his breath catching in his throat on the way out, “and here I was hoping it was my lucky day. Who’s the guy?”

“Maybe you know him.” Shiro’s smile is growing. “Looks like he could kill you with his bare hands, legs that go on forever, a mullet that shouldn’t look good but really, really, does?”

Keith is blushing now, and tries to force down his own smile. “Give me your damn phone.”

Shiro fishes his phone out of his back pocket and unlocks it before handing it to Keith. “Text yourself so you have my number, too. And I was serious about the date―if you want to?”

“I have to head back to work before Lance decides to come spy on us, but I get off in an hour.” Keith hands the phone back, his phone number saved and a message already sent to himself. “What are you doing later?”

Shiro shakes his head slowly, and he’s beaming now. It’s devastating. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Good. I’ll text you my address.” He gives Shiro a heated look as he turns to head back to the bullpen. “See you later.”

“Bye,” Shiro says helplessly and Keith gets the hell out of there before he embarrasses himself by throwing himself at Shiro in public.

*****

Keith answers the door that evening in ripped black jeans and a clinging grey t-shirt, his hair damp around his shoulders from his post-work shower. He’s got a lasagna baking in the oven and music playing on his laptop because it’s not like he’s only in this for sex. He likes Shiro, more than he’s liked anyone in a long time, if he’s honest, and he wants to impress him, to spend time getting to know him, just as much as he wants to get him naked.

Still, it takes a lot for him not to drag Shiro directly to his bedroom when he opens the door and notices that Shiro’s shoulders practically fill the frame. He lets himself appreciate the way the henley clings to Shiro’s chiseled torso; he's pretty sure henleys aren't designed to fit like that, but not a lot of people are designed like Shiro either, and Keith can't be anything but grateful.

“Hey,” Keith says, his breath catching as Shiro’s eyes flick up and down to take in all of him as if they truly can’t help themselves. “Come in.”

He steps aside to let Shiro into the house. Shiro brushes by him as he passes, though there’s enough room that the contact isn’t necessary.

“Nice place,” Shiro comments, glancing around as he toes off his shoes, arranging them neatly beside Keith’s boots on the mat. “Yours?”

Keith nods. “Bought it a couple years back.” He gestures into the house. “Make yourself at home.”

“Um.” Shiro pauses, suddenly shy. “I want to...Can I―?”

Keith cocks his head in question. “Can you…?”

Shiro steps in closer to Keith, his left hand reaching out to gently touch Keith’s hip. He leans in slowly, giving Keith plenty of time to pull away, as if somehow imagining that Keith would ever not want this. Keith tilts his head instinctively, stretching up to meet the soft kiss that Shiro drops on his mouth.

When Shiro draws back he’s smiling, and Keith has to reach up to curl his hand around the back of Shiro’s neck, pulling him back down for another one.

“Hi,” Keith says, flushing when he finally lets his heels drop back down to the ground. 

Shiro beams at him. “Hi.” He pauses, his head cocking thoughtfully as he sniffs. “What’s that smell?”

“I’m making a lasagna. It should be almost ready. Hope you’re hungry?”

“You can cook?” Shiro’s voice is full of wonder, as if Keith had just said he could do magic. He slots his fingers into the spaces between Keith’s. “It smells delicious.”

Keith leads him towards the kitchen, from which the heavenly scent of bubbling cheese is drifting. “I know how to make a few things. You don’t?”

Shiro shakes his head, chuckling bashfully. “Nope. I burn everything I try to make. It’s like a gift. None of my friends will let me near a stove anymore; I could probably burn water.”

Keith laughs. He gestures to the bar and Shiro settles himself on one of the tall stools he has lined up there while Keith fishes the lasagna out of the oven. The surface is golden, just a little bit brown around the edges, and Keith gives it a satisfied nod as he sets it out to cool. “You want a beer?”

“Sure.”

He sits on the stool beside Shiro’s, the both of them angled towards one another as they eat, pausing for sips of beer and conversation in between. The words flow easily between them while they talk about their jobs, their lives, Shiro’s next Monsters & Mana meetup.

“Will you come?” Shiro asks, shyly, smiling across the steadily lessening space between them from under his long, grey lashes. “It was fun having you there.”

“If you want me to,” Keith says.

Shiro’s knee bumps against his under the bar. “I do.”

Keith hides his smile in the mouth of his beer, taking a long sip before he answers. “Then I’ll be there.” He stands, gathering up his empty plate and utensils. “You finished?”

“I can help with dishes.”

“Nuh uh.” Keith says, cocking one eyebrow and holding out a hand for Shiro’s plate. “You’re a guest. Let me have this, at least for tonight.”

Shiro gives in, handing Keith the plate. “Thank you, that was delicious. I can’t believe you made that yourself.”

Keith feels his face heat and turns away to the sink, running water to soak the dishes. “It’s just a lasagna, Shiro. Not like it’s rocket science.” He turns to flick a teasing smirk over his shoulder at Shiro, who grins back at him. “What’s your favorite food?”

“You’ll laugh.”

Keith dries his hands, leaving the dishes to be dealt with later. He makes his way around the island back to Shiro’s side, and his heart picks up speed as Shiro reaches out for him, drawing him in close to the spread of his knees. “Try me.”

“Okay, fine. It’s mac and cheese.”

Keith doesn’t laugh, but only because he said he wouldn’t. His chest fills up with a bubbling amusement that he can’t force down. Shiro is so fucking cute. “I’ll find a good recipe and make you some. Next time.”

Shiro hums, the sound a low rumble in his chest as he pulls Keith in closer, his hands on Keith’s hips. “There’s going to be a next time?”

“God, I hope so,” Keith says, and gives into the pull deep in his belly and leans in to kiss Shiro again. Shiro is so satisfyingly solid as Keith leans into the cradle of his body, Shiro’s arms wrapping around Keith’s torso to deepen the kiss. That hot spark inside him bursts into flame at the brush of Shiro’s tongue against his, and Keith presses impossibly closer, one hand curling in the fabric of Shiro’s henley at his shoulder, the other creeping up into the short strands of white hair at the back of Shiro’s head. He nips at Shiro’s bottom lip, swallowing the gasp that breaks from Shiro’s mouth. Shiro’s thighs are snug around his hips, his hands on the small of Keith’s back skating lower and lower until his left hand is teasing at the hem of Keith’s shirt, brushing the waistband of his jeans and resting just above the curve of his ass.

Keith wants that hand lower. Even more than that, he wants Shiro’s skin against his.

“Will you come to my bedroom?” Keith asks. His voice has gone low and raspy, and he thinks he should be embarrassed about it, but he can’t find it in himself to be.

Shiro swallows hard, meeting Keith’s gaze with dark, hungry eyes. “Please, yes.”

He leads Shiro back to his bedroom, the journey delayed by a small detour when Shiro apparently gets impatient and has to press Keith to the wall of the hallway, stealing his mouth again with a searing kiss. Keith is gasping by the time Shiro finally lets him up, and his body bows away from the wall, following Shiro by instinct. He finally manages to wrangle Shiro inside the bedroom, finally gets his hands under Shiro’s shirt, skating them up an unfairly muscular torso as he yanks the henley over Shiro’s head.

Shiro emerges with a grin, reaching for Keith’s t-shirt, when suddenly he pauses, his gaze catching on something over Keith’s shoulder.

“What?”

The pink flush on Shiro’s face flares up, and he bites at his lip. Keith turns to look over his shoulder and is confronted with his police uniform hanging on the back of the closet door for his next shift.

He covers his laugh―just barely―with a snort. “Seriously?”

“What?” Shiro bends to kiss Keith, once, twice, his eyes flicking open afterwards to eye the uniform as if he can’t help himself. “You look hot in it.”

“You have a uniform kink, Shiro?” Keith cocks one teasing eyebrow.

“Not really―I mean, I don’t think…” Shiro breaks off and Keith is helplessly charmed by his blushy embarrassment.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I guess I’m glad you like it.”

“I like _you_.”

Keith takes a step away from Shiro and towards the closet, ignoring the soft sound Shiro makes in protest. “You want me to wear it while we fuck? Want me to use my handcuffs on you?”

Shiro’s face blazes pink. Oh. _Oh_.

Keith laughs delightedly, the heat flaring in his own belly. “That’s a hard yes.” He fishes the cuffs off the belt of his uniform, reaching for the hem of his shirt and peeling it slowly over his head as he makes his way back over to Shiro. Shiro is flushed across his cheeks and all the way down his sculpted chest, and his gaze is appreciative as he takes in the lean lines of Keith’s body. Keith presses himself up against Shiro, finally skin to skin, and he tucks the cuffs into his back pocket so he can reach for the button of Shiro’s jeans.

Shiro’s pants and underwear hit the floor, and Keith backs him towards the bed where he sits, hurriedly shucking his socks. Keith grins, pressing his hand to the center of Shiro’s chest, pushing him back towards the headboard. He admires the defined lines of Shiro’s torso, the breadth of his thick, muscular thighs, the curve of his dick, hard and leaking and heavy where it rests in the space between his hip and thigh.

Shiro’s thumbs graze reverently over the cut of Keith’s hips and the muscles of Keith’s abdomen jump under the touch. “You too?” He gives a tug at Keith’s jeans.

“Yeah,” Keith says hoarsely, and he bends to wiggle himself out of his too-tight jeans as Shiro scoots his way up the bed, laying himself out like an offering. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Shiro laughs. “Look who’s talking.” He reaches out a hand and pulls Keith towards him. “You’re so damn beautiful.” Keith straddles his waist, bending to meet his mouth in a heated kiss, their tongues sweeping hungrily together.

Then Keith pulls back, dangling the handcuffs from one outstretched finger. “You want―?”

“Um.”

Keith grins, teasingly. “Come on, Shiro, tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” Shiro says. “Anyway I can have you. But that could be...fun?”

Keith stretches back over Shiro’s body, holding his wrists and pressing him down into the mattress. He pauses to kiss him, then breaks away, and their noses brushing as he says. “Can I ride you while you’re cuffed to my bed?”

Shiro actually chokes. “God―fuck, yes, Keith, please.”

One of the cuffs goes easily around one of Shiro’s wrists, then the other after Keith passes it around the bar of his headboard. “Don’t pull too hard, okay? These aren’t exactly comfy; don’t want you to hurt yourself. And tell me if you change your mind and want them off.”

“Okay, Officer,” Shiro says. He rattles the cuffs against the bar, then reaches out to curl his hands around the adjacent bars, holding on obediently. Keith might actually be on fire, and he kisses Shiro again, hard, before he stretches to reach for the lube.

Keith straddles Shiro’s waist as he works himself open, one hand braced on Shiro’s heaving stomach while the other works behind him. Shiro watches him hungrily, his dick leaking steadily against his belly and his lip bitten red. By the time Keith makes it up to three fingers, Shiro is straining against the mattress, his thighs tensing and his breaths coming heavy from parted lips.

“Baby,” Shiro pleads, and the word from his mouth almost makes Keith gasp with need. “Please, I need you―”

“Okay,” Keith says, reaching for Shiro’s cock. He rolls a condom over it, slicking it down with excess lube and slowly, _slowly_ begins to ease himself down.

“Fuck,” he says, “fuck, you’re big.”

Shiro laughs breathlessly, and Keith moans as the movement jolts Shiro’s cock inside him. “I’m―sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Keith says. “I fucking love it. You’re so fucking hot, Shiro.” He shifts his hips, feeling the stretch of Shiro’s dick inside him, loving the involuntary jerk of Shiro’s hands as if he wants to reach to touch Keith. Shiro’s thighs tense behind Keith on the bed with the effort to keep himself still.

And then Keith moves.

He draws himself up, his hands braced against the hard muscle of Shiro’s chest as he tenses his thighs to pull almost all the way off, and then slams himself down again. Shiro throws his head back on a moan, his eyes slamming shut, but just as quickly he jerks his gaze back as though he can’t bear not to watch Keith move over him. Keith soon finds a rhythm, riding Shiro’s dick with slow, agonizing rolls of his hips, feeling every inch of the stretch of Shiro’s girth. It’s so, so good, and it’s even better when Shiro downright growls, the muscles of his arms straining as he clings to the bars he’s handcuffed to, and bucks his hips up into Keith.

Keith lets out a shout, pleasure lancing dizzyingly through him. Shiro sets his jaw and does it again, and again, and Keith gets embarrassingly loud. But Shiro seems to like it, because his mouth curls up in a grin and he bends his knees to brace his feet against the mattress so he can give it to Keith even harder. His dick glances off Keith’s prostate, dragging a shocked moan from Keith’s lips.

“Keith, baby, so fucking hot, Jesus Christ,” Shiro groans, his whole body tensing underneath the spread of Keith’s thighs. “Can you―fuck, I want to touch you. Touch yourself for me, Keith, make yourself come.”

“Shiro,” Keith sobs, and he does as he’s told, reaching to curl a hand around himself. He’s so, so wet, the slide of his hand easy and so good. “Shiro, I’m gonna come.”

“Come, baby,” Shiro demands, and he thrusts up hard, making Keith see stars as he spills over his own fist and Shiro’s chest. Shiro watches him hungrily, and Keith gathers up what little strength he has left to fuck himself back on Shiro’s dick until Shiro is throwing his head back against the pillows, his body going tight with the pleasure as he pulses and comes inside of Keith.

Keith lets go, letting himself slump forward onto Shiro’s chest, heedless of the mess between them. He presses a kiss Shiro’s pectoral, burying his face in the bulging muscle.

“Keith,” Shiro whines, and Keith hums happily, nuzzling in closer. “Keith,” he says and this time he laughs, the sound accompanied by the rattle of the cuffs.

“Oh shit, sorry.” Keith hurries to unlock the cuffs using the key he’d left on the nightstand. As soon as his hands are free, Shiro wraps his arms around Keith, broad palms skimming possessively, hungrily over every inch of skin they can reach.

They get cleaned up, and Keith drags Shiro back into the bed, draping himself over Shiro and clinging. Shiro chuckles and wraps him up tight in his arms, pressing reverent kisses to the top of his head.

“Next time,” Shiro says, and there’s sleepy laughter in his voice. “Next time, I’m cuffing _you_ to the bed.”

Keith hides his sleepy grin in the curve of Shiro’s neck. “Okay,” he says, and he turns to press one last kiss to Shiro’s sweaty skin before he lets his eyes slip closed.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This meet cute based on a true story i heard on forensic files, no joke. Obviously that story ended significantly less happily.  
> 2\. Everything i know about being a police officer i learned from Brooklyn Nine-Nine (supplemented by a perfunctory and very short google search.)  
> 3\. I, a dumb Canadian, definitely picked the location of this fic by googling “top ranked astrophysics research universities” ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> 4\. This was supposed to be like. 3k. I played myself.  
> 5\. I’m on twitter, @maccachino if you would like to come say hello
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING, AND HAPPY SHIRO’S BIRTHDAY, AILUREA! <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [License and Registration (the Hello, Officer remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182802) by [tootsonnewts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts)




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